


How Do I Tell Someone That Their Voice Makes My Teeth Grind... Politely?

by Russianblu



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon Asexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grumpy Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, Minor Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Miscommunication, Neurodivergent Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Neurodivergent Sasha James, No beta we kayak like Tim, Pining Martin Blackwood, Sasha James Deserves Better, Sasha James Is Autistic, Sickfic, Trans Sasha James, also its not explicit in this fic, brief abduction mention but its not serious, but i love the s1 archive polycule and i wanna write more of it, man idk what kind of tags im supposed to use i dont go here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Russianblu/pseuds/Russianblu
Summary: Bad mental health days can and should be considered sick days. Unfortunately, Jon doesn’t know that.Jonathan Sims finds himself overstimulated in the archives at a very inopportune moment. Will he lash out? Maybe! Will he be forgiven? Maybe! But he sure does find out more about himself in the process.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 19
Kudos: 164
Collections: Repulsed/Averse Ace Jon Archivist





	How Do I Tell Someone That Their Voice Makes My Teeth Grind... Politely?

Jon never fared well at parties. Well, at most social gatherings now that he thinks about it. He’s always had trouble communicating with other people, whether it be through eye contact, small talk, keeping conversations going, or staying engaged. None of the universal rules of good communication with others came naturally to him, even when it would come naturally to others. 

It never bothered Jon too much; he was content to bury himself in his work, the quiet of his flat or a library or the archives to be his only background noise. The atmosphere with the lights dimmed and the muted colors of his surroundings were a comfort to him. If someone wanted to spend time with him, idle banter wouldn’t be on the table. It was more than enough to simply share the quiet with someone else.   
  
Of course, that wasn’t much of an option for Jon today. Unfortunately, it was Martin’s birthday. That meant lots of colors, lots of chatter, and lots of interruptions. Elias was out of the office today; he was doing something along the lines of meeting with long time investors at the institute, whatever that means. This gave his assistants the idea to be as relaxed on the job as possible, and that meant that Martin was graced with a surprise party. A birthday party that ended up lasting a few hours, on and off between short bursts of them trying to get work done. Jon had said happy birthday to Martin when he came into work today, but brushed off any talk of further celebrations with them and retreated into his office to take shelter from their excitement.

He had tried to dampen the noise by closing the door, but it would only help so much when everyone’s voices were so… Annoying. There wasn’t any way he could put it without being impolite and unprofessional, so he didn’t say anything at all. Jon decided he would just grin and bear it for the time being. 

The thing was, anything and everything was putting him on edge today. He was irritable with no reasoning behind it. The sunlight was too bright on his eyes when he took the tube to work, and he had to cover the desk lamp with his handkerchief in an attempt to dim the bulb. He was fidgeting more than normal, and he had to get up and move. Sitting in his chair while reading statements was extremely painful, and he had no idea why. But it’s not like it hasn’t happened before. He had some solutions, but today it seemed like nothing he tried to do was helping. 

He was pacing circles around his desk at a certain point and started running his hands through his hair, getting short bursts of satisfaction from feeling the texture until he saw the strands of hair he was playing with fall off of his head, little by little. His face screwed up in worry. This was a problem, and he needed something. Anything to try and ease his brain from its tension.

Caffeine. Caffeine helps, right? He hated to admit it, but the tea that Martin brought him every day did help him with his fidgeting. He reached down at his desk to pick up his mug and- Oh. Empty. The mug was from yesterday. 

Suddenly there was laughter directly outside of his door, and it set him on edge more than before. Martin’s voice was normally soft and soothing, but today it made him more irritable than ever. He clenched his fists and tried to ignore it. He moved away from the door, but he could still hear Martin loudly talking with Tim and Sasha about a joke that they had made. It made his skin crawl, his scalp itch, and he wanted nothing more than to run away. Normally, his office was his sanctuary. But now it was his prison. 

The talking continued and Martin’s vocal cadence became too much for Jon to take. Jon loudly cleared his throat. It must have worked, because there was a short “Oh!” that could be heard through the door, and the lowered voice, and the shuffling of feet traveling away from his office.

Jon let out a sigh. He unclenched his fists and made a plan. If it stayed quiet within the next ten minutes, he would allow himself to take his mug and bring it to the break room for a cup of tea. 

Probably go to the bathroom too. He’s been holding it in since this morning.

Jon placed a timer on his phone and put the ringer on silent. He resumed reading the statement to the best of his abilities, but it was a fruitless endeavor. Their eyes glazed over the paragraphs of the written letters, not absorbing any information whatsoever. Restarting again, Jon got a little bit farther and found himself trailing off again. At a certain point, most of his focus was concentrating on the texture of his hair. He’s never going to get this done while he’s in this shape, is he?

Enough was enough. Resigned to the fact that he couldn’t continue without taking some kind of break, he reached for his phone. Four minutes have passed.

Jon lets out a grumble that slid into a groan of frustration. There was no way that he would be able to wait the full ten minutes that he had set aside for himself. He grabbed his mug, listened for noise on the other side of the door, and braced himself for the jungle that was the outside of his office.

Jon peeked his head through the door of his office, looking for any sounds or movement that would tell him where his coworkers are. Nothing so far. He winced as he heard the sound of the door squeaking open further. Not daring to open it completely, he shimmied through the opening he already made for himself and prepared to close it more slowly this time. The door creaked all the same, but this time in pops of sound, punctuated by the silence between them. This was torture. Jon quickly closed the door so his misery wouldn’t be drawn out any longer. There was an ever so quiet thud when he closed the door to his office, and he slowly turned the handle to release the latch that would keep the door in place without locking it. 

Jon never knew how painful opening a door could be until this moment. He silently hopes that a door would never harm him again, as dramatic and unlikely as that seems.

The hallways were filled with muted brown tones, broken up with light decorations of orange, blue, and yellow streamers. An odd color choice for birthday party decorations, but Jon is hardly in the position to judge. He’s just thankful that the dim lighting in the archives prevented the colors from hurting his head. He also makes a conscious effort to brush away any useless thought that let him personify doors and colors into hating him.

He crept towards the break room, mug in hand, looking for any signs of his coworkers. He couldn’t hear anything, so they must have gotten back to work at this point. Maybe he could do his entire tea and bathroom mission without bumping into them. That would be a relief. 

But now that he thinks about it, it’s strange that he couldn’t hear any noises in the archives at all. Wouldn’t there be shuffling papers or clacking keyboards that would bother him the same way that everything else was bothering him? He was so focused on listening for the noises in the archives that he ignored the noises in the break room, confronting him when he pushed the door open. 

“There he is!”

“Hello~!”

“There’s our grumpy boss!”

Jon was confronted by the chorus of greetings from his well-meaning coworkers. At this point, there’s no way that he can back out of this situation without being extremely rude. 

He thinks he feels a headache coming on.

They were all huddled around the break room table, a small bundt cake as its centerpiece. Each one of them had a plate with a slice of cake on them, with one empty plate and one empty chair at the spot closest towards Jon. They all let out a nice smile at Jon as he closed the door to the break room and stepped inside further. Martin gave Jon a small wave and then glanced down at his slice of cake, getting ready to take another bite. This is probably the happiest Jon has ever seen Martin, which makes him feel even more guilty for reacting so negatively to the sound of his voice today.

“Sorry we interrupted your work earlier, we made sure to sing _really quietly_ when we sang happy birthday,” Tim said.

“We went to invite you earlier, but then we realized you were in the middle of something, so…” Sasha trailed off and she took a bite of the piece of cake on her plate. 

Jon is thankful for that, at least. When the archives staff sung happy birthday for * _him_ * It was also one of his off-days. The difference that time was that Elias was there to make sure the festivities only lasted 15 minutes maximum. He also counted it as one of their breaks.

Tim continued where Sasha left off. “So why don’t you sit down with us?” _Oh no._ “We left a seat for you, and I promised Martin that I wouldn’t eat all the cake.” _Oh really, you shouldn’t have._ Tim dropped his fork onto his plate with a high toned CLACK and reached for the cake knife, already cutting a slice for Jon and putting it on the empty plate between him and Sasha.

“Well- Just enough to make sure that Jon gets a slice.” Martin said. _Please stop talking._

Martin continued, “I’m sorry if I was too loud earlier, I was just- Erm, well…” It’s not Martin’s fault that his voice was the most annoying out of the three of them, it’s just that it’s one of those days for Jon. 

“Anyways, I made sure to save some cake for you!”

“No thank you. I’m uh- I- I’m vegan” Jon lied. Jon expected this to shut down the conversation and exclude him from their gathering. Unfortunately for Jon, it made Martin’s eyes light up.

“Wait- you’re vegan? No way, me too!” Martin smiles at him even bigger. “It’s a lot easier to keep kosher that way. Sasha actually made the cake so that it wouldn’t have egg or dairy in it.” 

Sasha waved her hand dismissively. “It was nothing, really! It’s actually more moist this way.”  
  
Tim chimes in too, cutting a massive slice for himself. “Yeah, it’s really good!”

This lie was already out of hand. If he doesn’t put a stop to this soon, they’ll ask more questions that he couldn’t possibly lie about. His brain is already going haywire with everyone talking to him at once.

“Actually, I- Uh… I just came here to grab a cup of tea. Happy birthday, again.” Jon mentioned briskly and started to make his way over to the tea kettle. Martin’s smile dropped and he quickly began to reprimand himself.

“Oh, shoot- I forgot to make you a cup of tea this morning, didn’t I?” Jon hadn’t even realized it was past noon. Glancing at the microwave clock, he saw that the time read 4:13 pm. Jon felt a pit in his stomach. He had spent so much time fretting over how annoying the sounds around him made him feel that he couldn’t focus or let himself work. And speaking of annoying noises...

“I am SO so sorry about that. I must have been so preoccupied with the party that it slipped my mind.” Try to be polite, Jon. Remember, it’s not his fault. 

“Let me make up for that-”

Martin moved his chair back, the legs scraping against the tile floor so harshly that it made Jon’s flinch. It was subtle, but both Sasha and Tim’s facial expressions shifted slightly when they saw him react. Tim was quick to react. While Martin was starting to get up, Tim turned to Martin and lightly tugged at his sweater sleeve.

“Martin, don’t worry about that. It’s your birthday after all. Jon is an adult, he can make his own tea.” Tim still had a playful tone in his voice, but it had dropped slightly. Jon ever so wishes that Martin would shut up and listen to Tim. But instead, Martin laughed and fully got up from his chair.

“Well, that doesn’t have anything to do with it. At this point it’s tradition. And I wouldn’t want to break tradition just because it’s my birthday.” 

At this point, Jon didn’t have the energy to say any stern words to get him to stop. He didn’t even have enough energy to keep himself composed. Instead, he reflexively pressed his ears shut as Martin kept talking. He was avoiding eye contact with his coworkers, but he knew how exposed this motion made him in front of them all. All eyes were on Jon, and the tension in the air became clear to everyone.

Martin started fiddling with his hands and took a slight step backward.

“Um, Jon… Is everything okay?”

Jon could lie and say everything is fine and to ignore him, but knowing Martin, that would just encourage him to try and help more. The truth might help them all know that he just needs everyone to be quiet until the end of the day because every word spoken feels like needles being jabbed into his ears and brain.

“No, Martin. Everything is not ‘okay.’”

“Well, is there anything I can do to help?”

Jon paused for a second, taking his fingers away from his ears. “Yes, but…”

Is there a polite way to say that the sound of your coworker’s voice is the centerpiece of Jon’s overwhelming day of auditory suffering?

“But…?” 

Martin’s voice made him wince even more, and it’s hard to hide it from the person barely two meters away from him. He might as well say it.

“Your voice is extremely annoying. I-It’s painful for me to hear.”

The room went completely silent. A noise was caught in Martin’s throat, indicated by his short and barely audible stammers. Jon was aware of how badly he messed up. He needed to fix this, quickly. Before he could think of something, Sasha broke the silence.

“Jon, what the hell?”

Jon began clenching and unclenching his hands. “Well, uh- That’s not exactly what I meant, I-I-”

“Oh yeah, Jon? And what exactly _did_ you mean?” Tim raised his voice at Jon, making his head hot with a mix of shame, frustration, self-loathing, and a headache that has been building the entire day. Tim was always very supportive of Martin, and that meant defending him when his boss insults Martin to his face.

“I- I meant to say, well- The, uh-” Boy, did Jon wish that he was better at articulating his emotions. His mouth became dry, but still, he pushed onward. 

“I meant to say that everything today has been awful, and Martin’s voice has had an effect on me that makes me- Well, uh… It makes me want to grind my teeth.”

Sasha lets out a sharp huff. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon sees Tim start to get up out of his chair. Panicking, Jon continued his exposition to try and diffuse the situation the best way that he can.

“So I’ve been holed up in my office, avoiding bright lights and sharp noises. But I needed some tea so I came in here. I heard you all, and I heard Martin, and it felt like being stabbed through my ear directly into my brain with sewing needles.”

“M-my voice is really that bad, huh…” Martin said softly. He takes a small step backward. Tim is there with him now, standing side by side with him. 

“Jon, that’s enough. You’ve done enough damage already.”

Jon knew this. He felt awful for it, too. But everything he did to try and explain things or make it better only makes it worse. He tried to remember what other people do to keep conversations positive and let others know that you’re listening and that you _care_. Eye contact. Eye contact is something he’s avoided for most of what this disaster of a conversation has been. Starting now, Jon would maintain eye contact.

For the first time since Jon started making excuses to not be with them, he saw them. He saw Tim’s furrowed brows and resentful eyes. He saw Tim’s hand on Martin’s back, safeguarding him from Jon’s hurtful words. He saw Sasha’s face screwed up and facing the floor, avoiding eye contact herself. But most of all, he saw Martin. Martin looked away as soon as their eyes met. Holding his forearms close to his chest, he leaned into Tim. 

There was no way that Jon could fix this, is there?

"I uh...I need to, um…"

Every muscle in his body screamed for Jon to run away from the mess he created. Run away and hide. Jon staggers backwards, turning quickly and pushing his way through the door he entered through. He didn't even care about knocking his shoulder against the door frame before rushing into the hallway. He needed to be anywhere but here, and far away from the people he hurt.

___________

  
  


Jon was back in his office, curled up below his desk with his hands balled into fists above his head. All the lights were off, including his desk lamp, making the room pitch black. Despite his efforts to make the room seem as unoccupied as possible, he heard the doorknob click open.

“Jon?” He heard Sasha’s voice whisper from the entryway into his office. “I can lower my voice if the pitch is too high,” she said with an air of uncertainty. “It’s not something I’m too comfortable doing on a regular day, but…” She sighed.

“You’re sick, Jon. Now I know you’re stubborn, and you refused to admit that you had a cold last month so you could get work done, which makes me think you’re doing the same thing now.” Jon could see a crack of light from the hallway became wider as Sasha opened the door further. “Bad mental health days should be sick days too, and… I know how it feels. So, I thought I could offer you a ride home.” Her voice, still at a whisper, raised to her head voice again as she became more relaxed and lighthearted in her tambour. “I saved up a lot of money for my silent car, and I feel like the experience would go to waste if I didn’t offer the opportunity of a sensory considerate ride to anyone. It helps me when I’m having a bad sensory day, so I believe that it could help you too.”

Jon stayed silent. Slowing down his breathing, he locked his limbs to avoid making any involuntary sounds that could give away his position under his desk. He closed his eyes and thanked his past self for choosing a work desk that has walls on all sides besides the space under the desk for a person’s feet. 

Jon didn’t like hearing Sasha leave her comfortable vocal range for his sake, especially when he didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t sure why she was trying to help him, or why she was trying to relate to him either. To his knowledge, this was just something that he had to work through on his own. Some overlooked head injury he might have sustained from bullying that happened to him at a young age. Maybe it was divine punishment for being such a brat to his grandmother when she first gained custody of him. Of course, searching his symptoms on webMD was a horrible decision in regards to his ailment. Every source pointed towards him being afflicted with some disease that would leave him dead in six months. And that was just with the symptoms that he was able to describe. There are only so many ways that you can say that sometimes everything around you becomes extremely annoying without someone on a public forum diagnosing you with “sporadic prick personality disorder”. 

If Sasha suffered from something similar, she didn’t show any indication of it externally. Not like Jon did, of course. But if she was telling the truth, she would have enough to deal with without having to worry about the same symptoms of an insensitive asshole. He would just pretend to not be in his office until she left.

Sasha’s soft voice called out from the darkness, more concise with what she said. “I know you’re in here, Jon. I can’t see you, but your coat is still hung up on the coat rack and your wallet is on your desk with an opened folder. You normally leave late and arrive early, but you at least put the tape recorder away before making your exit.”

Shit. She read him like an open book. Or, more like an open statement file. Like the one that was on his desk and gave away his position. Snitch.

“Come out, Jon.” There was a pause, and then a light chuckle. “And no, not in that way.” Jon let out a quick snort of laughter but quickly cupped his mouth with his hands. Sasha giggled but didn’t say anything more. 

Well, there’s no use in hiding anymore. It would be better for him to come out of his hiding place voluntarily before Sasha got impatient. Not because he assumed she would try to pry him out from under the desk, but because he had already caused enough heartache for his assistants. He didn’t want Sasha to wait anymore than she needed to. He took his hands off of his face and crawled out from under his desk on all fours. There was no dignified way of doing this, was there? When he stood up, he didn’t stand with his usual rigid posture. What kind of boss would hide under his desk from his own co-worker? He wasn’t even sure what kind of power dynamic he held with any of them at this point. He was ready to be chewed out by Sasha at any moment, but it never came.

Sasha didn’t say a word as he left his hiding space. She just gave a soft nod and a kind, even gaze. The same gaze that you would give a frightened kitten, or a nervous toddler, as a way of saying ‘Everything is going to be alright.’ Jon willed with all of his heart that it would be.

_____________

  
  


Jon rehearsed what he would say to Sasha in his head the whole walk up the stairs and to the parking lot. He fought with his pounding head and tired eyes to focus on what the clearest course of action would be in making things right. The process of making a proper apology was ‘admission of guilt, addressing what harm was caused to the other party, acknowledgment of the wrong that was done to the other party, and a promise to do better in the future.’ At least, that’s what Jon thought. It’s so hard to think when the library’s windows are so big and it’s still so bright out when the sun is setting. 

They received a few glances from other people clocking out of the archives as they ended their shift. Jon didn’t know whether it was from Jon’s disheveled state, the fact that he was leaving much earlier than he normally does, or the fact that they were leaving together. He did notice something odd. Before Sasha put in her own employee ID into the computer system, she had pulled out a scrap piece of paper with two other lists of numbers on it as well. It took a second for it to register in his brain what that meant.

“Are those Tim and Martin’s employee IDs?” Jon asked.

“That’s right.” She responded and moved out of the way for Jon to clock out of work. She kept talking in a quiet voice as he started inputting his own ID. “Tim offered to take Martin back to his place for the night. You know, because…” Jon’s body became tense. It’s all his fault that this happened, isn’t it? If letting them get away with leaving work early will help atone for what he did, then so be it. He’ll let it slide, and won’t mention anything about it either.

Sasha sighed. “We can talk about it later. Office gossip isn’t the best thing to talk about while there’s people around.” She nodded her head towards someone standing behind them, holding their phone in their hands and staring at them conspicuously. They quickly looked back at their phone, which just so happened to be off.

  
  


They made their way down the parking lot and towards a sleek black car. This huge pickup truck was Sasha’s? She fished out the keys in her pocket and unlocked the door with a two clicks of the remote control. After she climbed into her car, she looked at Jon expectantly, as he was still standing where she had left him. Oh, right. He forgot to get into the car. He nervously fidgeted with the hem of his coat as he walked around the car to the passenger’s side. After getting inside, he noticed how quiet it was compared to outside. She wasn’t kidding. Even as they left the parking lot, the motor of the car barely made a sound. It was a relief.

The interior of the car was nearly spotless, but well worn in. It lacked the new car smell that Jon would have expected when he entered and saw the seats. There was a pair of thick headphones hung over the rear view mirror. Looking through it, you could see a bin in the back seat full of various things that didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to being in there. Some of them were bright, which immediately brought his eyes away from the collection. 

He knew that he was going to have to apologise eventually, but he had no idea where to start. Would he go in order of importance or chronologically? Did he have any proper idea of everything he did wrong that he should apologise for? Shouldn’t he be apologising to Martin first, or would Sasha relay the apology to him? Whatever Jon was supposed to do, he didn’t know what it was. He knew that he should probably apologise.

“I…” Jon fiddled with his seat belt. Well, he already started, so the best thing to do is to close your eyes and keep going. “I lied about being vegan.” He blurted out. He immediately regretted this as he saw Sasha’s face grow tired.

“We know,” Sasha said blankly. Silence filled the car once again, but it wasn’t as comfortable as it was before. 

‘Shit.’ Jon thought to himself. ‘Okay, apologies going chronologically aren’t working. Was that even an apology?’ Jon stared blankly ahead of them as they drove onwards, slightly jostled by the occasional bumps in the road.

“I know that you’re not the person I should be apologising to, but- I should do it anyways. And neither Martin nor Tim are here to hear me say it but I just want to let someone know-” 

“Jon, stop.” Sasha cut him off before he could say anything else. “You need to be in a good state of mind before you can offer any kind of decent apology. And I’m more worried about your mental health right now, either way.” 

Jon sunk back into his seat. His mental health sucks, how could a car ride fix that? What is he supposed to do? If only there was some kind of instruction booklet on this kind of thing. He has had enough of thinking about himself and self reflecting for one day. All he did was think about himself. But every other subject he tried to think about ended up going back to his own faults or his own… whatever the hell was happening.

Sasha was driving down a route that Jon was unfamiliar with. He normally took the tube to wherever he needed to go, and it was usually to and from work these days. He looked at the building complexes that they drove by, some of them decorated with hanging plants, others with flags and banners, and some boarded up with wood and nail. The sun was setting in the sky, but the buildings around them blocked its descent. 

They took a turn into a nicer neighborhood, with a smooth road and less traffic. Jon assumed that this was where all the well off businessmen and politicians lived. The anarchist in him wanted to break their windows, but the logical side of him knew that the sound of glass breaking would set him off even more. He wonders why the sound never bothered him when he did it before. They traveled down this road for a very long time. It was nice.

“How are you feeling?” Sasha asked Jon tentatively. He fought back the urge to give an automatic, ‘fine, thank you’ and instead thought about the question. He was nowhere near as close to the levels of distress that he was experiencing back in the break room, but not as good as what he would like to be feeling. He was afraid that if he tested himself and said that he could handle the noises and the lights again, the whole ordeal would start up again and he would get right back to square one.

“Better.” Was the answer that he finally decided upon. “Thank you, Sasha. I, um…” Jon trailed off. He noticed that he was fiddling with his hands quite a lot, stretching each finger and playing with the solid black ring on his middle finger. It made him feel better, he noticed, and it was nice to be in a space where someone else didn’t give him the side eye for wringing his hands when he was nervous. 

Jon thought back to what Sasha said before, about how she has bad sensory days like the way Jon was feeling. He did some light research on the subject back in uni, but any sort of conclusions he could have had about his neurodivergency were squashed soon after he asked people online about it. It was simple. The education system would have been able to detect any sort of anomaly within him at a younger age, and he was never pressed by teachers to be tested for it. The fidgeting that he did was due to the anxiety he developed after his childhood trauma, or just something he had separate from that. It wasn’t stimming, and there was no need to self diagnose because doing so makes a mockery of those who are actually neurodivergent.

And that was that. Jon never pursued that research any further, but instead did work to mask whatever he was experiencing for those around him. He could cope, if he worked enough to do so. 

But Sasha met Jon in the middle. She didn’t expect him to catch up when this was happening to him. She reached out to him, while keeping her own interests in mind. 

“It’s what I would want others to do for me if i was in your situation,” Sasha said, as if reading his mind. 

“I said before that I had sensory overload sometimes, and it’s true. I don’t normally tell other people that I am on the spectrum, because it’s a sure fire way to get people to treat you differently than when they thought you were neurotypical. The only one in the institute that knows is Tim. And now, you.” Sasha smiles for Jon, but keeps her eyes on the road. 

“Thank you, ah… Thank you for sharing that with me, Sasha.” Jon says. He doesn’t know what to say otherwise. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to relate to what she’s experiencing, since he’s not on the spectrum himself. But, maybe he could get advice. She’s opening up to him for a reason, letting her in her car, driving him back to his flat when she knows the tube will set his senses ablaze once more. 

“Could you tell me how you…” Jon trails off mid sentence, looking for the right words to say. “How do you work around days where you- your, em… Your bad sensory days?” Is he allowed to call it that? A bad sensory day?

Sasha puffed out her cheeks and blew out some air, her eyes wide. “Where do I even start. Well.... How do I say this without getting written up…?” Sasha glances guiltily at Jon. 

“What is it?” Jon asks, wary of whatever answer Sasha would say.

They slowed to a stop in front of an intersection and Sasha drummed the steering wheel with her hands. “Well… every week day where I feel myself about to have a meltdown, I fake my aunt’s death.” 

Jon’s jaw dropped. “Are you joking?”

“Nope! Not one bit.” She laughs. “I leave work early, and if I’m lucky enough to find Tim before it happens, he makes up a new family member of mine that has tragically passed away from the flu or some boating accident.” The car drove further once again.

“This whole time, I thought you just had-”

“I had a lot of fake lesbian aunts after a while, didn’t I?”

“-sickness and bad luck running through your family-”

“According to Tim, I did.”

“-and I bought condolence cards for you every time!” 

This had made Sasha’s smile falter. “Y-yeah, i’m sorry for wasting your money like that.”

Jon’s initial shock turned into frustration. “I was worried that you might come down with something too! I-It’s not about missed work time or the money I spent on a fake scenario, it’s-” He cut himself off before he could go any further. He pinched the bridge of his nose and dragged it down to cover his mouth. No, he was not going to lash out at another coworker today.

“I shouldn’t have made up such a severe lie to cover up my meltdowns. I apologise for not coming clean about this sooner, too.” Sasha said guiltily.

“No, I’m sorry for not fostering an environment where I could make you feel safe about... When you have a bad sensory day, you should be able to take time off without having to make an excuse for it.” Jon wasn’t going to let Sasha get down on herself when he was the one who shouldn be apologising. It was his own fault, after all.

“You didn’t know, it’s not your fault.” Jon disagrees, but doesn’t interrupt her. “Either way, it’s comforting knowing that I was able to mask it this well.” Sasha relaxed once again. He’s thankful that she was able to take something positive about their back and forth. “You should offer yourself the same kind of kindness,” Sasha adds.

“What?” Jon asked.

Sasha answered his question with her own. “When did you start feeling overstimulated today?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t call it overstimulation, per se-” Sasha looked at him and raised her eyebrow when he said that. Jon backtracked and said, “I-it was around when I woke up, but I-I think I only began to notice it while I was on the tube. It set me off, and nothing I did for the rest of the day could stop it.”

“Mmm…” Sasha says, and stays silent for a bit. Jon’s attention is turned back to the road. He has no idea where he is, but it’s probably outside of the city limits at this point. He also realises that he never gave Sasha his address, and she most likely doesn’t know where she lives. A jolt of anxiety strikes his heart, and anxiety begins to gnaw at his belly.

“Where are you taking me?” He asks quickly. He doesn’t think that Sasha would abduct her, and logically speaking she would never, but that doesn’t stop the thought from jumping into his mind.

“I’m just driving you around my favorite areas.” She says calmly. “They’re nice to go through, and sometimes I like to lose myself on the roads because it’s comforting. When I don’t think I have the mental energy to drive, I sit in my car and rock until I feel better or I tire myself out.” Sasha is making herself very vulnerable around Jon right now, and he doesn’t entirely know how to react to it. But his mind goes back to when he was curled up under his desk, wanting to rock himself back and forth the same way she described. It probably wasn’t the same thing, but It was comforting to know that a fellow peer that he held high regards for could also go through similar rough patches. 

And now that he thinks about it, the drive has been helping. The car is silent, driving through the outer limits of the city. His mind has calmed down for the most part, and his anxiety has subsided. 

After all of this, he’s just tired.

“Thank you,” was all Jon said.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help” She gave him a smile and went back to focusing on the road. They both sat in comfortable silence together, and Jon almost fell asleep in the comfort that she had extended to him.

__________

Jon had been able to brainstorm a good apology with Sasha’s help. It was a bit difficult; Sasha had to balance her focus between staying on the road and making sure the language Jon used didn’t come off as asking for sympathy. He made sure to send the final message to Martin before darkness fell over the city because he didn’t want Martin to go to bed without letting him know that he was remorseful. He knew that it wouldn’t be enough, and it would never be enough, to undo the harm that he’d caused him. But at least he now knew why he lashed out in the way that he did. 

After he had given Sasha his home address, while she was typing it into the satnav, he sent an additional message to Martin. He told him that he wanted to treat them all to ice cream the next time that he could, and that he’d cover the whole bill. He could pick any kind of expensive ice cream shop that he wanted and that could cater to him, and he’d love to throw a second birthday party for him.

On the way back to Jon’s flat, Sasha and Jon talked more about their shared experiences. Jon complained about how unforgiving society was about breaking unspoken rules about conversation and social interaction. Sasha gave him tips about how to keep eye contact without actually looking at another person’s eyes. Jon told Sasha about his grandmother, and how she comforted him after being bullied for his traits by saying that he was just a little eccentric, and that they had poor taste. Sasha opened up about how oftentimes she felt like she was just looking on at the world experiencing social life, and that She was only a spectator in the grand scheme of it all. Jon reached out of his comfort zone and promised her that he would make sure that she wouldn’t feel that way around him.

They were both grateful that they had someone they could open up to.

Jon was grateful that Sasha never gave him a concrete answer to his meltdown. If Sasha had said point blank that he was probably on the spectrum or he probably had adhd, he wouldn’t have listened to her. That, or he would have leaned too heavily on whatever suggestion she gave and never tried to find good ways to cope with it. 

Instead, what she did was give him a key that could open a door for him. A door that he could enter and find the answers to all the questions that he had all of his life but never found the words for. That night he did research on his own about the traits that he exhibited, but this time armed with the keywords that redirected him to more accurate resources. He could parse for himself what kind of person he was, and he didn’t need someone to spell it out for him. 

When reading about different methods of stimming, he caught himself within the act of it himself. He was fidgeting with his ace ring again. He was allowed to call it stimming at this point, and he felt grateful for that. 

When he was questioning his own sexuality, he didn’t have the luxury of someone being there to spell it out for him. All he knew was that he never wanted to have sex and that he had never had that kind of attraction towards others. Sure, it would have been nice to have someone tell him that he wasn’t broken, but he held a sense of freedom in the fact that it was of his own effort that he found that label for himself. He saw it casually mentioned in the discussion of a book that he had just finished bulldozing through. In the middle of a character analysis essay, he saw it. And he looked into it further, and the more he read the more he found that it applied to him. He was allowed to ruminate on it, and he eventually felt comfortable using that label for himself. He found himself at home in this community, even if he didn’t engage within it. Simply having his ace ring on at all times was enough for him to remember that there were others that shared his experiences and feelings.

And now, learning about this new community, he felt a similar feeling. A feeling of relief and belonging. There were others that needed to find extra stimulus during boring days, there were people who needed to have no stimulation when everything became too much. There were people who played with their hair until it started falling out and they grew bald spots, just because of the comfort of the way that it felt. There were people who couldn’t wear clothing that were too tight around the arms and whose skin crawled when they wore gloves. Some people lost their train of thought and had to pause mid sentence to snap their fingers and try to remember what they were just about to say.

There were people like him. There were people like Jonathan Sims. Within a wider community that he cannot fully grasp or see all at once, he belonged.

He would not let anyone take this away from him. Not this time, not ever.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started writing this for a TMA hurt/comfort week prompt focusing on sick days and misunderstandings. I ended up spending more time on it than I intended, but here it is! My longest fic to date, and my first TMA fic. Thank you to my friend in the Avatars Anonymous discord server for giving me motivation to finally wrap it all up. 
> 
> I'm an animator first and a writer second so if you have any tips pls feel free to share 'em!
> 
> EDIT:   
> If this fic resonates with you and you're not officially diagnosed as anything neurodivergent, you should check out this thread i just found: https://metapianycist.tumblr.com/post/637600047066906625/autistic-self-diagnosis-is-valid As you scroll down there are a lot of helpful resources for people of all ages who cannot get a diagnosis for their autism. I'm gonna look into them too, and I'll let you know what happens. :^)


End file.
